


five seconds or six hours

by remembermyfic



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, Nutcracker Fic, Rule 63, Toronto Maple Leafs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 01:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17193521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remembermyfic/pseuds/remembermyfic
Summary: It’s Mitchy’s idea to jump into his arms and Auston is maybe not as chill as he looks.





	five seconds or six hours

**Author's Note:**

> The world needs more Nutcracker fic. 
> 
> Standard disclaimer applies. Click the little 'x' if you are or know the people tagged above.

It’s Mitchy’s idea to jump into his arms and Auston is maybe not as chill as he looks. Which is dumb considering one, they are codependent as all hell, and two, in the context of said codependency, it’s not like they don’t touch when they’re within distance. He can think of a hundred times in the past week alone where they’ve hugged, cuddled, invaded each other’s space… the list is long. 

But this… This pulls him up short. Which is also dumb because it’s a few steps, when she pretends to faint like the damsel she very is not. 

Mitchy takes one look at him and snorts. Definitely showing that lack of chill then. Excellent. 

“I’m not carrying you,” she says, because that is honestly a logical reason for her to be the one to faint, even if she’s also more energetic. “You’re heavy. And huge.” Then, like she knows what’s coming next with the way he tucks his tongue into his cheek for a moment, points at him in warning. “It’s not a good innuendo if I set you up like that.” 

He rolls his eyes, but lets it go and says, “Pretty sure dragging would work.” 

She scoffs. “Not dramatic enough.” 

He lets his mouth curve up a little. “And if anyone knows drama…” 

“Oh my god, do not start with me. Your injury was not that long ago and I still have the footage.” 

“Rude.” His tone is mild, but the betrayal is real. 

“You should not be having a crisis about this,” is Willy’s opinion, crowded beside Zach on Auston’s couch. “She suckers you into a piggy back after ninety percent of her workouts. You hug literally all the time. Carrying her a couple of steps should be easy.” 

“It’s different,” Auston tries. 

“It really isn’t,” Freddy offers, because he is also a traitor and a little salty that Zach is absolutely obliterating him in NHL. Zach is good, and Freddy should know that. Auston isn’t sympathetic. “You could just talk to her.” 

Which is rich coming from Fred. Auston’s seen the eyes he makes at JT and he knows for a fact - okay from Mitchy, but when it comes to team dynamics she’s an incredibly reliable source - that they’re not talking about their feelings either. 

“It’s all of five seconds,” Zach agrees, then sucks in a breath as Freddy’s Mo manages a pretty nifty chance. “You’ve let her sit in your lap longer than you’ll have to carry her.” 

“It’s different,” Auston argues again, and does not cower when Willy sends him a pitiful look. 

“You could just talk to her,” Zach reiterates. “Like adults.” 

“I hate you all.” 

 

He, of course, doesn’t talk to her. He blames it on time, on games, on not wanting to throw a wrench into everything that’s going good and not wanting to make bad things worse. There are a million reasons Auston doesn’t say a thing to Mitchy and they are all very logical, shut up Willy. 

It does not help his nerves the night of, though. If anything, it makes it all worse because she’s grinning from ear to ear, thrilled by their costumes and lit up from the inside out in ways that make his stomach attempt a daring climb up his throat. She looks ridiculous and stunning and yeah, Auston’s absolutely fucked. 

“Ready?” she asks him, moments before they hit the stage. By this point, they’ve taken too many pictures and she’s still literally bouncing on her toes. Auston can feel his fingers twitching because he wants to pull her close, harness that light, be a part of that giddiness. 

He can only nod, because he has a reputation to maintain and she will absolutely rip him if she so much as senses a weakness in his chill. She glances at him like she knows. He’s grateful they’re summoned before she can ask. He’s hanging on to his control by an irrational thread and he has no idea what he’d do if she pushed. 

It’s honestly, the longest five minutes of Auston’s life. Which is just dumb to consider, if he’s honest, because those few seconds before his name was called for the draft also felt like forever, and yet here he is, cellying in front of a crowd of people cheering for him, Mitchy on the other side of the canon. It feels like a blink and an eternity before she’s leaping into his arms and he’s a little surprised she manages not to giggle or laugh as he bounds across the stage with her. Her mouth is twitching when he does set her down, and he can see her bite her lip when he pretends to give her CPR. 

She’s going to give him so much shit. 

Sure enough, two minutes - or five hours, who knows - after they make it backstage, she turns to him. “A couple of steps and he carries me across the stage.” 

Auston feels like his chest is still heaving, like the adrenaline is still racing through his system and it delays his response enough for her to go on. 

“Gotta show off there, Matts? Strong man, brave enough to face cannon fire and carry a girl across the stage?”

She’s almost laughing but Auston is very not. He’s barely listening, with his blood roaring in his ears as he reaches for her. She makes a noise as he drags her in and pulls the hat from her head. Her hair tumbles down and he gets a hand in it before he tips her head back and fixes his mouth to hers. She makes a startled noise, almost enough to get him to pull back. In fact, he’s halfway to doing so when she grips his arm, hard. With a little tilt of her head she’s kissing him back and Auston’s mind blanks of all panic or elation. 

Mitchy breaks the kiss eventually - or immediately, it’s a little like being on stage skewing his concept of time - and Auston feels panic creep back into his veins. Her eyes are so wide as she blinks at him, so blue, and he feels himself reflexively swallow around the lump in his throat. She laughs, a little awkwardly but she’s still smiling. 

“Okay,” she says. “Okay.” 

Auston wants to die and fly in equal measure, torn between her blase response and the fact that she hasn’t slapped him. “Okay?” he asks, and hates that he feels like his voice sounds too high to his own ears. 

She laughs again. “Didn’t take you for the damsel in distress type, is all.” 

“I-” He can’t finish the sentence, doesn’t know how, really. He tries swallowing again, opens his mouth and everything but there’s nothing coming out. 

“You,” she prompts quietly and her eyes are shining, the same way they had been before they went out on the stage, like there’s nowhere else she wants to be, like it’s him that makes her want to be here, not the ballet or the opportunity or anything else. 

“I want to take you to dinner,” he says, more confident this time. 

“Maybe I’ll take you to dinner,” she responds, and it makes him smile. 

“Don’t care, as long as it’s a date.” 

“Ooh,” she replies. “Smooth. Well played, Matthews.”

He shrugs. 

“You can have your date,” she says. “But you have to kiss me again first.” 

“So demanding.”

But he kisses her, of course, because adrenaline or not, and despite the chirping to come, she said yes. 


End file.
